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Written for @duskwhisper. Contains their first meeting as children; which is really important for this ship and also explains a lot of development. Words: ~3200.

The radiant sunlight above greeted his scaled skin with the most pleasant warmth after the boy finally left the shadows of their domain, speaking a silent prayer to his watching Father, the Sun, to show his gratitude. Truly, it was indeed a blessing to have successfully avoided his furious sisters thus far who would only grab both of his arms to drag him back to do chores suited for someone of his age. Yet not for one of his temper. Even now, at the brink to become a man with his almost fifteen summers, he was still a child in the eyes of his tribe, and naturally also to his sisters. His height was by now superior to all of them, even to his brothers around his age, a tall silhouette clouding the sun if he wished for it – but his bulky appearance fitting for a proud son of Azim meant nothing when he had no right yet to prove his worth in front of their Father and the entire tribe.

The little contests held to appeal and motivate those younger among them meant only very little to the honor he could receive when he was old enough to fight the strongest warriors and accept the trials of Azim. Deadly tasks, only mastered by the most courageous and strongest. Even the smallest among them learned to wield a weapon at a young age; they learned how to survive in the vast Steppe and how to slay beasts and outsmart them – but children were not allowed to officially hunt until a certain age, nor could they participate in any trials which were held several times a year to determine the strength of each individual and to praise Azim.

And as much as Magnai enjoyed to watch his older brothers and sisters fighting whilst the sun was standing at the zenith, anticipating the outcome of each battle, he wished to participate himself. It was pitiful to watch the different weapons clash and hear the loud shouts of encouragement without being able to fight himself – and let his axe speak more than thousand words. Frustrating as it was, Magnai often tried to suppress his thirst to fight, reminding himself that soon his time would come. Unfortunately his sisters did not understand all of this, merely blaming him for skipping the elder’s lessons and their own and hiding in the shadows of different houses to avoid their mercilessness. Often enough they would find him, no matter how much he tried, giving him work he despised.

Nothing made him smile more than holding a weapon in his growing hands – a weapon he was used to wield so well ever since he turned seven, much to the surprise of some of his brothers who had seen him in the past, chasing the creatures near their homes with such burning and frantic passion untypical for a young boy. There was only little which could compare to such feeling of strength and power; even if he had also always enjoyed the calmness of the night and the soft breeze brushing his scaled skin while listening to the elder’s tales. Another summer and he would earn the right to participate in the trials of strength and to accompany their warriors on patrols and hunts. And another few until he was old enough to step into Bardam’s Mettle and become a warrior.

The boy followed the play of the light upon the green, fresh grass growing near the Dawn Throne, simply letting his feet led the way. His belief had taught him that his Father, the Sun, would always watch over his steps wherever he went; and to be here, free from all tasks and just with his outworn weapon on his back, he indeed felt so very free. Most children, even some of their adults, refrained from walking too far away from the protective shadow of Azim’s face descending from the Dawn Throne in the middle of the Steppe – but Magnai feared naught. He was stronger than most, and also more courageous. There was hardly any beast he could not slay yet, despite still not being a man – and seeing the sacred land with his very own eyes was more satisfying than keeping his head low near the waters below while watching their sheep. And after some while, when he was thinking about resting for merely a bit before he could swing his axe against some scattered rocks, he heard distant growls. Certainly, it was not unusual to meet one of the many beasts living in the Steppe – but being experienced in hunting already, despite of his age, he immediately knew that these growls were far from usual. They were on the hunt – aggressive and unstoppable.

As he stood on top of the rock after following the loud growing sounds, his eyes immediately found the helpless prey of the pack of Steppe Gedans in the green grass below. Yet it was no lost lamb who now easily became victim to the mercilessness of the nature after one fool had missed its disappearance during its daily grazing but a young child, seemingly not older than maybe seven or eight summers. The pack of beasts circled around her tiny silhouette, smelling the scent of blood dripping from a fleshy wound on her legs, knowing that she could not escape them. There was no weapon to use to defend herself from the sharp fangs and claws, even if her stature would have allowed her to even use one. He doubted she ever learned to begin with. Magnai did not know to which tribe the girl belonged to, but he quickly understood that he had only little time to save her if such was Azim’s will. Questions could be asked later – and truly, his beating heart longed for fresh blood. His fury had been restrained for too long; his frustration towards his sisters had grown to be too overwhelming. And to see a defenseless child die in front of his eyes was neither the will of Azim nor Nhaama.

The beasts had not yet noticed his sudden appearance, hungry eyes resting on what they believed to be their next meal and not the last sight they would ever see. Their claws grated the dirt beneath their paws, an obvious sign for their imminent attack as pack – which also was his perfect opportunity. In almost complete silence Magnai had managed to draw the axe on his back, heavy and almost twice his height, making only little sound for them to even notice his presence. But even then it would already be too late. In an instant Magnai jumped from atop of the gigantic rock, right into the pack of Gedans who had not expected such surprise, swinging his axe with such speed and strength that the skull of the nearest creature not only made an dreadful sound after its powerful impact but also flew a few feet through the air, landing on another who had prepared for a jump. But his weapon came to no rest, not even after tasting the approaching victory already. The Gedans immediately drew back, fearing for their lives after the strong hunter had appeared – but the young Oronir was faster than them all. Unbelievably skilled and powerful for someone of his age, he turned his body with a sidestep, using the gravity to his advantage. He leaped forward, tossing his axe this way to deal a deadly blow in a cone to most beasts still in his range, finishing them off with only one blow. Crimson blood colored the former green grass, but it was far from being over.

No matter how strong he was, stronger than any other boy of his age and even stronger than some of their warriors, he was still a child who had not yet reached his full potential – or even strength inside his limbs. Wielding a weapon twice his height was exhausting even for him, feeling the tension inside his muscles only from the few fatal swings he had dealt – and the time he needed to recover from such attack was also crucial. He knew of this; preparing himself to turn his body to offer little spots without proper defense – but claws sharper than any weapon he knew already cut his skin and scratched over his protective scales. The feeling of pain – Magnai was not exactly used to it yet, only injuring himself only very rarely during his lonely training; but he grit his teeth as if he felt nothing at all on his bleeding arm. He could not show weakness as proud Oronir. He was no longer a child, even with his almost fifteen summers. It did not matter to him that he had already killed more than ten of them – he needed to kill them all. Ignoring his own fresh blood, his clenched fist found the throat of the slightly smaller creature, burying itself deep into its fur and taking its breath. This quick attack gave him some time to reposition himself on the field – and more importantly to throw his body between their fangs and the girl whimpering nearby. She was scared to death, he did not have to watch her closely to know that; and this was another reason why he had to finish them more efficiently and more quickly.

He rolled himself on the ground, avoiding that two of their long legs managed to touch his body, breaking the neck of one of the remaining Gedans which was close to reach the tiny girl. Atrocious as these creatures were, beasts driven by the blood they smelled and the flesh they saw in front of their dead eyes, they would not retreat – and having such knowledge, it was quite easy to predict what they next move would be. It was not the first time Magnai had defeated them; but certainly it was his first time to deal with a whole pack by himself. And still…the victory was close. A confident smirk appeared on his lips knowing that; and the grip around his axe became stronger for a mere moment as he prepared his final attack. Their instincts misled them and right into his trap. There were no survivors on their sides, only slain beasts who would soon turn to dust and grass once their bodies withered. The adrenaline flowing through his veins had greatly suppressed the pain he felt – and now with the battle being over he felt the marks on his body so very well. But now was not the right time. His breath was uneven as he approached the still sniveling girl who still sat on a perfectly green spot surrounded by bloody corpses surrounding her, carefully and silently placing his bloody axe on this ground to not scare her more than she already was.

The amber eyes of the boy fell on the fleshy wound which covered almost her entire right leg, assuming that there was only little chance for her to even be able to stand or walk on her own. He did not have to ask her to know that she probably ran away from the pack in desperate panic; and most certainly not quick enough. He still saw the fear of death lingering inside her teary eye and the pain hiding inside it. That she did not yell for help was indeed a mystery to him. ‘You are safe now’, were the first words he spoke to her in a seemingly calm voice, even if he probably terribly failed in it. The blood inside his heart was still throbbing very loudly after the battle and his tone, neither the one of a boy nor of a man, was proof of his fatigue and own pain. There was no answer, but he had not expected one to begin with. She was most certainly in shock after her near death experience. Kneeling down in front of her, once again slowly and carefully, Magnai reached to a bag hanging on his belt, taking out some herbs he had stolen from his sisters not so long ago. He only knew very little about how to treat wounds, often skipping the many lessons the other children received around his age, but he knew enough to know that it would prevent for her blood to become poisoned – but the bleeding would not so easily stop. No, he had to take her with him.

Once again Magnai grit his teeth, enduring the deep cuts on his arm – knowing that his honor as child of the sun demanded to make certain that this girl was safe first. He was quick to remove a part of his intact sleeve in the color of the bright sun above, not caring much for the mockery he would have to endure later if he returned to his tribe this way. The cotton would be enough to stop the bleeding for a little until they could part ways once again. ‘It will hurt a little. Don’t be scared. It’ll stop the bleeding.’ He was just informing her to ease her fear if only for a little; not expecting an answer or even awaiting one. And indeed – he did not need her approval to save her life. His strong fingers hold her legs still whilst his other hand quickly and tightly covered every part of her wounded leg with what once had been his sleeve – and yet his gaze often lifted from the wound to meet her own from time to time, just to hopefully calm her. He knew he was rough in what he did in order to stop her bleeding; but she did not complain. He had no word, not even one of pain. Oddly strange for a child who had never learned how to fight. ‘What is your name?’, he demanded to know, but the girl remained silent.

The reflection of his eyes was filled with worry after not hearing a single answer, but it did not stop him to do what his pride and honor told him to. He silently prayed to Father Azim, asking for his strength to not collapse before returning home. The fight had made him be more exhausted than he dared to admit; and truthfully, he could not waste too many thoughts on that now. One of his hands grabbed the bloody axe near him on the ground, placing it back on his back. Carefully he lifted her tiny body with both of his arms – and like he had expected she weighted only very little – as he stood up with a fluent movement, not wasting any time. Her small face was close to his heart as he took a big step away from the many dead corpses, holding her close to his body for her to know that she was not alone. There was still no answer or hint to who she was – but he assumed that someone in the nearest settlement would be able to help her. She was a child and therefore no found victim to the hostility most tribes had among each other; even less in Reunion. One moan of pain escaped his lips as he climbed over a rock with her on his arms, feeling her weight on the deep cuts which already colored his remaining sleeve in crimson red. But he did not stop to walk with her on his arms and the heavy weight on his back, knowing that Azim would guide him to the settlement.

And indeed, every of his steps were accompanied by the Sun’s warm light, sending him some strength until he reached Reunion after some time. It was already afternoon when he saw the wooden gates guarded by the Qestir’s warriors. As soon as their gazes fell on the two of them, one warrior wanted to rush to his side but he immediately stopped his intention by silently glaring at him. Even if his garment was torn apart and full of blood he was still a son of Azim, a child of the Oronir tribe. He had his pride and he needed no help of any other but his Father. Apparently they respected his silent wish since they let him pass without coming to close to him, not even tending the girl he held in his arms. The Qestir warriors were no use for him anyway. He carefully placed her on one of the many chairs in the middle of the market, leaving a small trail of blood behind him. But it did not matter. Kneeling in front of her again, his gaze flew over the wound he had tended earlier, noticing that the bleeding seemed to have stopped. As he looked up again, a soft smile had appeared on his lips. ‘The bleeding has stopped. I am certain it still hurts a little but fear not. It will heal in no time. It was truly a blessing of Azim that I found you. No tears now, child. I shall return to my tribe at once. Someone will help you here.’

He wanted to leave – face being more grim than the face anyone else would have at this age, disappointed by his own weakness. Yet before he could take only one step away from the petite silhouette near his side, he felt her little fingers digging in his garment, as if she could keep him from leaving. His lips parted to say something, noticing that her teary gaze had become determined. She was clearly still in pain, and he could read her attempt to ignore the sting inside her own leg, but instead her free hand now grabbed for his wounded arm, painted in crimson. For the first time he noticed an hidden radiance inside her eyes, a beauty he had not seen before – but the young Magnai was more irritated to see worry inside them, after all that had happened.

It hurt his pride; and truthfully – he could scarcely even contain his rising anger. He knew he could not be mad at this child, who probably did not even know about the Oronir’s greatness as young as she had to be – but to see someone being worried about him, not his Nhaama but a girl so much weaker and younger than him just because he had been too weak to defeat the pack without a single scratch, bothered him. This was not fitting for a proud son of the Sun. Her fingertips faintly touched his arm, coloring her skin in the red of his blood ere he withdrew his arm in reflex, not wanting that she touched him. Or the shame he now wore on his arm. There was nothing she could do to begin with; and he did not need her comfort after he carried her the entire way while she cried her eyes out. ‘I am a proud son of the Oronir tribe. We do not die because of a little wound like that.’ He loudly exhaled some air. ‘Do not worry about me. I will become stronger than this’, said the boy with adamant voice. ‘

Slowly his own hand removed hers which still held onto his clothes, watching the glow of her eyes while he did so. That girl…was quite odd. But he didn’t need her pity. Instead, he pitied her. ‘May the great Azim watch over you.’ And with that he turned around, leaving her before she could stop him again, clinging to him like she had done when he had held her inside his arms.

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